


Tuesday Night At Lonely Joe's

by Brumeier



Category: Roswell (TV), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens, Angst, Community: intoabar, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Gen, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:31:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney McKay walks into a bar and meets...Jesse Ramirez! There will be snark, intoxication, discussions of love and loss, and an annoying Air Force pilot who takes over the jukebox.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuesday Night At Lonely Joe's

**Author's Note:**

> **Note:** If you’re interested, the timeframe of this fic is set post Roswell’s final episode in 2002, which coincides with Rodney’s second appearance on Stargate SG1 in the Redemption two part episode.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Rodney looked up from his quiet contemplation of the spots on his silverware, startled and a little annoyed. The young man who’d spoken was already sliding into the seat opposite him without being invited.

“Yes, actually. I do mind.” He hadn’t driven nearly fourteen hours to share a booth with a stranger. It was a Tuesday night, and Lonely Joe’s was far from packed; the guy had his pick of tables, or a seat at the bar.

“Oh.” The guy looked taken aback but made no move to leave. “My name’s Jesse. Jesse Ramirez.”

“Good for you. Please leave.” Rodney didn’t know how he could be any clearer on the subject. “I’ve had a really stressful couple of days, and tomorrow I’m being sent back into exile, so I couldn’t possibly care less about you and I certainly don’t want you staring at me while I’m eating.”

He turned his attention back to his Jack and Coke, the second he’d had since he’d walked through the door. The bartender Gilly, who was seventy if she was day, had recognized him and remembered what his usual was even though he’d been gone for four months, and that had meant more to him then he’d care to admit. 

“Look, I’m not trying to bother you, honestly.” The kid, Jesse, leaned forward. He wasn’t bad looking, not that Rodney was currently in the market for that sort of thing – bronzed skin, thick dark hair neatly styled, and a pair of lips so full that Rodney was momentarily distracted from his ire just imagining the kinds of things those lips might get up to. “It’s just, you seem like someone I could really talk to.”

“I can’t imagine what made you think I wanted to talk to anyone, much less you.” 

Someone put _Folsom Prison Blues_ on the jukebox and Rodney sighed. He put up with a lot for the food that came out of the bar’s kitchen, including a jukebox full of country music, and décor that consisted mostly of dusty taxidermy and faded posters of musicians; Tammy Wynette and her bouffant hairdo had a place of honor beside the list of daily specials. Lonely Joe’s was a dive bar, one the finest examples of its kind, and Rodney had been dreaming of one of Elmer’s cowboy burgers for months.

“Look at them.” Jesse inclined his head. “They’re all locals, or military. But you, you’re different. You look like the kind of guy that stays indoors a lot. Maybe in a research lab?”

That got Rodney’s warning bells ringing. Technically he still worked for the US Air Force, by way of Area 51; he was only on “loan out” to the Russians. This kid wouldn’t be the first one to try and get information out of him. Despite the government’s assertion to the contrary, Area 51 did exist and they did in fact work with alien technology as most of the general populace assumed. Rodney had been the victim of bribe attempts from conspiracy theorists, business moguls, and once even a member of the Trust. It would take more than money to get him to break his confidentiality agreement, because once he did he’d no longer be able to work with Asgard tech or Goa’uld weapons and that was unacceptable.

“I’m just passing through,” he replied dismissively.

“The bartender knew you.”

The kid was sharper than Rodney would have given him credit for. “And I don’t know you, so why don’t you scamper back to school or wherever it is you belong.”

The song on the jukebox changed to _Ring of Fire_ just as Gilly came with Rodney’s dinner. His mouth watered as soon as he caught the scent of onion straws and barbeque sauce.

“What’s with all the Johnny Cash?”

Gilly shrugged one narrow shoulder, dislodging one of her long, ink black braids; the hot pink bedazzled shirt she was wearing was entirely too big for her rail-thin frame. “Flyboy likes it.”

“Well, that flyboy has shitty taste in music.”

“You want another Jack and Coke?”

“Yeah. And don’t skimp on the Jack.”

“Sure.” Gilly turned her attention on Jesse. “You want something, sweet thing?”

“No, he doesn’t. He’s leaving.”

“Yes, I do,” Jesse contradicted. He turned a beaming smile on Gilly. “Could I get whatever beer you have on draft, please?”

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Rodney asked.

“I’m twenty-six,” the kid replied a bit defensively. Gilly held out her hand and he huffed out a sigh, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and handing over his driver’s license. Rodney got a glimpse of it, saw that the kid was from New Mexico. “Can you bring me whatever he’s having?”

The kid was settling in, which was the exact opposite of what Rodney wanted. But he supposed he should be used to that by now. The SGC hadn’t cared what he wanted when they sent him to Yekaterinburg to work in that gulag that masqueraded as a science lab, and they sure as hell hadn’t rewarded the work he’d done with Sam to solve their problem with the Gate. Sure, it had been Jonas Quinn who had the idea that ultimately saved the day, but Rodney had worked his ass off for them. 

He decided to just ignore Jesse, instead turning all his attention on the food. Elmer was Nevada’s best kept secret and he was still at the top of his game. The burger was everything Rodney had been dreaming about – chargrilled and juicy – and the onion paste for the sweet potato chips was like manna from heaven. For a few precious moments he was able to forget everything else and just lose himself in this taste of home.

“She called you Doc earlier. Are you a scientist?”

Rodney resisted the urge to throw his glass at the kid’s head. He caught a glimpse of blue BDUs heading towards the jukebox and braced himself for more of the Man in Black; he wasn’t disappointed when _Orange Blossom Special_ started to play. It was just the icing on the cake, really. Why should his last day on American soil be anything even approaching good?

“I know I’m Canadian, but I think my American English is still pretty good.” Rodney licked onion paste off his finger. “I’m not talking to you about myself, the food or the weather. I don’t want to talk to you. At. All. Go away.”

**One Hour Later**

“I mean, what else could I possibly do for them?” Rodney scowled at his mostly-empty glass. “You do your best, try and save the day, and is anyone grateful? Oh, no. Instead they only look at how you shorted out the computers and electrocuted their top mind.”

“I hear you,” Jesse said. His eyes were pretty bloodshot and Rodney thought it was a shame he couldn’t hold his liquor. Amateur.

_A Boy Named Sue_ played in the background and Rodney had long since stopped wondering if Johnny Cash was the only artist in the entire jukebox. He’d actually stopped wondering about a lot of things; judicious application of Jack Daniels had that effect on him.

“My wife left me.” Jesse pulled the wedding band off his finger and spun it on the table. “Just left town. Without me.”

“I bet she’s blonde. Is she blonde? They leave nothing behind but broken hearts and shattered dreams, kid, trust me on this one.” Rodney knew what he was talking about. Sam Carter: she’d ruined his life with her big boobs and her bigger brain and her absolute refusal to recognize his brilliance. He knew for a fact he had IQ points on her but she had this ability to think way outside the box and turn a crazy idea into a workable reality. He’d likened it to an artistic flair when he’d blabbed about it to her in the infirmary.

“Even among the misfits I didn’t fit in,” Jesse said. “Maria and Kyle got to go, and they’re perfectly normal. Why not me?”

“Wait. Your wife left you and took _friends_?”

“Yes! Thank you! It’s weird, right? I mean, I understand why she had to go. But she’s my _wife_.” He finished off the rest of his beer and tried to get Gilly’s attention for a refill. “We were in love. She went against her parents to marry me, which shows how invested she was in us. Right?”

Rodney leaned forward to get a better look at Jesse. “Why didn’t they like you? Do you torture cats or something? Are you a lawyer or a garbage man or something?”

“Hey!” Jesse looked offended. “I’m a damn good lawyer! If you knew the neighborhood I grew up in you’d know how impressive that is. I had a job offer from a high end firm in Boston, too. Boston!”

“What’s so great about Boston?”

“Her parents didn’t want us getting married because Isabel’s only eighteen, but she was in college, and she’s really mature. Man, if you only knew.”

Rodney snorted. “You’re a cradle robber.”

“Do you know what it’s like? Finding that perfect woman, the one you can see yourself spending the rest of your life with?” Jesse got a faraway look in his eyes and Rodney returned to scowling at his empty glass. “It’s like a miracle. Isabel was my miracle.”

“That doesn’t last,” Rodney grumbled. “Look at you now. Drunk and whining about the one that got away. There’s no such thing as true love. It’s all just hormones.”

He slid out of the booth and got unsteadily to his feet. Gilly was being slow with the refills, so he thought he’d just go facilitate things. Except there were those BDUs again, standing next to the jukebox probably looking for the next Johnny Cash song to inflict on the room, so Rodney diverted and fished some change out of his pocket.

“I can’t take any more of this. Get away from there!” He tried to hip check the guy out of the way and ended up stumbling. Flyboy grabbed hold of his arm and steadied him.

“You okay, buddy? Looks like maybe you’ve had enough to drink.”

“Did you save the world today? No? Then shut up and get out of my way.” Rodney tried to read the song titles and corresponding number – letter combinations but everything kept blurring out.

“You want B17,” the guy said helpfully over his shoulder.

“Pretty sure I don’t.” It took Rodney a couple of tries to feed the quarters in. “There has to be something else on this thing worth listening to.”

“B17.”

“I don’t want B17!” But somehow he ended up pressing B17 anyway and he banged his head on the glass in frustration when _(Ghost) Riders in the Sky_ started to play. 

“Good choice.”

“I hate you. Get out of my way.” Rodney pushed past the flyboy, who looked like nothing more than blurry blue BDUs topped with dark hair, and made his way to the bar. “Gilly! Another round!”

**One Hour Later**

“Do you believe there’s life on other planets?”

“Why are you asking?” Rodney had his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee; Gilly had cut him and Jesse off and made the coffee mandatory. It wasn’t mixing well with the Jack Daniels already in his system, making him a little queasy.

“Come on. We’re on the edge of Area 51, right on the Extraterrestrial Highway. It’s a valid question.” Jesse was looking pretty weary despite the caffeine. “You’re a smart guy. What do you believe?”

“I believe I had too much to drink.” Rodney sipped at the sludgy contents of his cup; as good as the food was here, the coffee was horrible. “And anyone that thinks we’re alone in the universe is a complete moron. Humans as the pinnacle of all civilization? Even with an IQ as high as mine I think that’s ridiculous.”

“I believe that too,” Jesse said. “I’m from Roswell.”

Rodney snickered. “Of course you believe in aliens. Roswell’s whole economy depends on them.”

He’d only been there once, several years ago, on a trip with some of his co-workers. There were alien-themed businesses, alien paraphernalia by the truckload, and an alien festival replete with cheesy costumes, and for all that Rodney hadn’t gotten lucky with Gene which had been the whole reason he’d tagged along. 

Roswell was a popular destination for conspiracy theorists and alien enthusiasts, and Rodney had wanted so badly to tell those idiots that he’d seen the actual spaceship. It had been housed at Area 51 for years, studies yielding very little information before it was relocated to a glorified storage locker in Utah.

“The crash of ’47 was pretty well documented.” Jesse leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you seen the evidence? I know they have it at Area 51.”

Rodney shook his head. Deny everything, that was the company line. Truth was the Roswell crash was a favorite mystery at Area 51. They’d never been able to determine what kind of aliens had piloted the ship, except that it was no race they’d yet come in contact with; contrary to “found” autopsy tapes no bodies had been recovered.

“Come on!” Jesse slapped his hand on the table, anger showing plainly on his face. “You can trust me!”

“Why?” Rodney countered. “I don’t know you and you sure as hell don’t know me. Even if I did work at some secret government installation do you think I’d risk my reputation and livelihood confiding in a complete stranger? You must be a special kind of stupid.”

Someone chuckled and Rodney caught sight of the flyboy heading back to the jukebox. For someone that had been putting in solid hours at the bar he didn’t seem particularly intoxicated.

“If you put on another Johnny Cash song they’ll have to ship you back to Nellis in a shoebox!”

“B17 it is!” the guy called back, clearly amused.

Rodney closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he focused back on Jesse the kid inexplicably looked near tears, and that was bad enough when women did it. It made him squirm a little in his seat.

“I just miss her, you know? She was the best thing that ever happened to me and now my whole life is falling apart.”

“It can’t be all bad. You’re out of that stupid town at least.” Rodney reached across the table and patted the kid’s hand awkwardly. He wasn’t very good at being comforting, as he’d been told often enough.

“There’s nothing for me there, not anymore.” Jesse sniffled.

Roswell was a dead-end town, Rodney had been honest when he said it was good that a smart kid like Jesse was out of there. Before he’d taken an enforced trip on the Trans-Siberian Railroad he’d heard plenty of water-cooler talk about the mess in Roswell. How some government splinter group was expending countless man hours and tax dollars searching for the aliens they were sure were hiding out there. They were the butt of countless jokes from those who knew the real alien threats that existed.

“If I knew where she was I’d go find her. And make her see that we belong together.”

“No offense, but she picked her friends over you. Even I can read _that_ sign.”

Jesse glared at him across the table. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! Have you ever been in love? Have you ever met a person and known you were meant to build a life together? Felt like you couldn’t breathe without them?”

Rodney tried for a scowl but it fell flat. As much as he liked to fantasize about Sam Carter he knew he had no real chance with her. Most people were incompatible with him, either intellectually or from a personality standpoint. He’d had his share of sexual relationships but nothing that involved any kind of emotional connection. He was probably meant to be alone, the curse of his genius.

“Love is a fantasy. I deal in reality, and the reality is you need to forget about this woman and move on with your life.”

**Ten Minutes Later**

“Hey. Jesse.”

Rodney and Jesse both looked up at the young man – even younger than Jesse and probably not legally allowed to be in a bar – who approached their table. His hair was shoulder-length and unruly, and he looked vaguely pissed-off. The effect of his appearance was electrifying on Jesse, who couldn’t slide out of the booth quickly enough. 

“Michael! What happened? Where is she?”

“Relax, man. She’s fine. She’s worried about you.”

“And she sent _you_?”

Rodney was still feeling a bit bleary around the edges but he could see that these two obviously had a history, and a fairly contentious one judging by the stiff body language. He wasn’t at all interested in getting involved in whatever it was, but they didn’t move away from the table.

“Look. She tried to call you at the firm in Boston and you were a no-show. She just wants to know if you’re okay.”

Jesse crossed his arms. “No, I’m not okay. Do I look okay?”

“His life is falling apart,” Rodney offered helpfully. 

“I want to see Isabel.”

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t want to see you.” Michael looked like he wished he was somewhere else.

Rodney couldn’t help butting in, not when the lie was that obvious. “If that was true you wouldn’t be here.”

“He’s right,” Jesse said.

Michael turned to Rodney. “Stay out of it, pal. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Listen, kid –”

The kid in question raised his hand, palm out, but Jesse slapped his arm down. “What are you doing?” he hissed. “Are you crazy?”

“Go to Boston. Be there when she calls.”

“I’m not going to Boston, or anywhere else. Not without Isabel.”

Michael sighed. “You’re a pain in the ass, Ramirez.” He pulled out a cell phone and made a quick, muttered phone call. “You’re on your own, pal.”

He moved to the bar, and started an intense conversation with Gilly regarding the veracity of his photo ID when he tried to order a beer. Jesse turned to give Rodney an inquisitive look, and then the outside door opened and in walked a tall, sexy woman with short, not-quite-blonde hair. Isabel, Rodney presumed.

“How old did you say she was?” he asked, but if Jesse heard he gave no indication.

“Jesse.” Isabel stopped a few feet away, keeping space between them. She had a pretty decent poker face, but Rodney could hear the emotion in her voice, even in just that one word.

“Isabel. Are you…is everything okay?”

“What are you doing here?”

Jesse threw his arms up in the air. “What did you think was gonna happen? I go to Boston and have a perfect life? _You_ were my perfect life, Isabel. You want to know what happened after you left?”

“Jesse –”

“Those people detained everyone. Questioned all of us – your parents, Liz’s parents, me. They watched my every move, tapped my phone.”

Isabel looked stricken. She took a step forward and then stopped. “I didn’t know that. Is everyone okay? My parents?”

“They’re as good as they can be, considering.”

“And you?”

“Waiting for you. _Looking_ for you.”

Rodney felt like he was watching a soap opera. There was a lot of very obvious tension between Jesse and his wife. He wondered how long they’d been separated, what had driven them apart. There were a million reasons why relationships couldn’t possibly work; he’d rarely seen one that lasted.

Something unspoken must’ve passed between them because in the next second Jesse and Isabel were joined at the lips and she was crying. 

“I missed you so much.”

Rodney sighed. Well, at least Jesse was getting another chance to be happy. For however long that lasted, anyway. Michael turned from the bar and shook his head.

“We’re gonna need a bigger van.”

Jesse threw some money on the table and held his hand out to Rodney. “Thanks. For listening.”

“Good luck,” Rodney replied. He was surprised to find he actually meant it. He shook Jesse’s hand, but the kid was already focused back on the hot wife. Michael preceded them through the door and then they were gone, leaving Rodney alone at his table nursing a queasy stomach. At least he felt sobered up enough to get himself to Vegas so he could catch his plane.

“You okay to drive?” Flyboy asked as Rodney waited at the bar for Gilly to tally up what he owed for dinner and drinks.

“I’ll survive. Thanks for your completely unnecessary concern.”

Rodney settled his bill, and left a very healthy tip for Gilly. He didn’t know when he’d be back this way again and he was already missing it. Tomorrow he’d be back in the gulag, his every move monitored. He could only hope that they’d switch him from Naquadah generators to the X-302 project, which would be infinitely more interesting.

“You staying in town?” 

“What? No. I’m flying out of McCarron tonight, out of the country.”

“Business or pleasure?” Flyboy waggled his eyebrows. Rodney got a better look at his face and was suddenly sorry he’d wasted so much time chatting with lovelorn Jesse. This guy was pretty hot.

“Business, I guess you could say. Banishment would be a better word.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“No sorrier than me.” Rodney took one last look around, sparing a moment for a silent goodbye to Tammy Wynette’s poster. Then there was nothing left to do but walk out the door. 

“Hey! B17!” Flyboy called out. “Good luck.”

“Moron,” Rodney muttered. And cursed the anonymous pilot all the way to Vegas when he couldn’t get _(Ghost) Riders in the Sky_ out of his head.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** This was my first time doing [ Intoabar ](http://intoabar.livejournal.com/) and it was harder than I thought. The one thing both my characters have in common is knowing that aliens exist, but that’s the one thing neither of them can talk about. LOL!
> 
> And of course I had to put John Sheppard in there for a little cameo. How could I leave him out? ::grins::
> 
> Thanks very much to both Taste_is_Sweet and JB for the brainstorming assistance in finding a way to put these two guys together in a way that made sense.


End file.
